


Cowardly Beings

by swshawnee



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swshawnee/pseuds/swshawnee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hongbin tries to run, but only ends up in the arms of what he fears the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cowardly Beings

**Author's Note:**

> Songfic of Nell's Meaningless.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUlEwv_ySkw

_The heart is like this_  
 _If you open it with such great difficulty_  
 _It will close again_  
  
 _But don't you worry_  
 _Humans are braver than you think_  
 _They forget everything as if nothing ever happened_  
 _Really too remarkably_  
 _Or too foolishly_  
 _”It must be for real this time”_  
 _”I love you”_  
  
 _In the end, we're all weak beings_  
 _who must struggle endlessly not to be lonely_  
 _In the end, we're all cowardly beings_  
 _who must decieve each other endlessly to not be left alone_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The first time they meet, Hongbin is lying on his back on the school roof. There's a cigarette between his lips and fingers, sending small cascades of smoke through the air, in the direction of his gaze; towards the slowly drifting clouds and the sky, blue with spring. He inhales puff after puff of smoke, knowing it'll make him nauseous, but he doesn't care. He doesn't mind.

He hasn't been up there for very long, so he's still a little bit on edge and jumps in surprise when the door is heftily pushed open. A boy shuffles through it, but remains by the entrance without closing the door, and Hongbin stares at him, the initial fear transforming into annoyance.

”Hey,” says the boy. His blond hair is bushy and spiky, perhaps worn from too many dye jobs, but he has a good sense of fashion, Hongbin notes; laid back, but he probably turns many heads as he walks through the corridors. He doesn't recognize him much. ”You're Hongbin, right?”

Hongbin frowns. ”Yes. Are you staying or leaving?” The other boy blinks, apparently unsure of the answer. Hongbin sighs. ”Well, regardless, sit down or someone will see you.”

”Oh,” the boy yelps, crouching down immediately and letting the door close behind him. ”Sorry.”

Shrugging non-committedly, Hongbin closes his eyes, face towards the sky, soaking up the sun. ”Did you want something?”

”Uh,” the other grunts, crawling along the roof to get closer to him. ”Just to say hi. I saw you on your way up here, and I've been wanting to say hi for a while, so... Hi.”

Hongbin scrunches up his nose. The guy is straight-forward in an awkward but relieving sort of way, and it makes Hongbin want to believe that this isn't just a big joke. It's not the first time his schoolmates have pulled something like this. Remember the time they sent Gongchan to him to pretend to be his friend just to make fun of him later? Hongbin sure does. And he's not about to fall for it again.

When he doesn't reply, the boy sits down next to him. ”I'm Wonshik. Uh... Kim Wonshik.”

”Wonshik,” Hongbin repeats. The name feels unfamiliar on his tongue. ”Are you new here?”

”Oh, yeah. I mean, kinda. I've been here for about a month, but... People here are a little different than what I'm used to. It's hard to fit in.”

Hongbin snorts. ”Tell me about it.” He sits up, removing the cigarette from between his lips and putting it out against the tile next to him. ”Well, you should know that sitting here talking to me is pretty much social suicide. So off you go.” He shoos him with his hands, waving towards the door.

To his surprise, Wonshik simply chuckles and leans back. ”I've noticed people don't like you much around here. I figured it must mean you're different from them, right?” Hongbin lets out a scoff that he can't stop. ”Which is why I've been wanting to talk to you.”

Hongbin scratches at his neck. He's not used to using his voice much in school, and this guy is making it harder for him to feign disinterest. ”Alright, look,” he says with a sigh. ”If people see you with me, they'll make you into a freak, too.”

”Oh, please,” Wonshik laughs. ”I don't care. I don't care if shallow people dislike me.”

Hongbin clenches his jaw to hold back the flood of replies that come welling up. Sure, it's easy to say you don't care when you're still human, before you get called a freak so many times you step into the word, the letters surrounding you everywhere you turn, when it starts sounding more like you than your name. But Wonshik wouldn't know anything about that, now, would he?

”I've seen you carrying a guitar case around,” Wonshik says, staring out over the schoolyard, squinting in the sun. ”How long have you been playing?”

Well, this is infuriating. He's used to not speaking to anybody since no one wants to know what he has to say, and now that this guy is here, Wonshik, he's asking him questions yet not taking him seriously. Who does he think he is, even?

”There are plenty of 'normal' kids in this school,” Hongbin hisses, wanting to turn over on his side, away from Wonshik, as if they're a married couple arguing in bed. ”You'll find them, but not by talking to me.”

”Or, since we're both outcasts, I could stay with the only person in this school that actually interests me,” Wonshik replies, grinning at him. And it annoys Hongbin even further, but fine – if he wants to ruin his life, that's really up to him. What does Hongbin care? ”Tell me about your guitar playing.”

”Uhm...” Hongbin tries. ”I've been playing for... seven years? Six? Maybe.”

”Shit. I'm impressed.”

Hongbin laughs. ”Don't be impressed until you've heard me play.”

Wonshik sits up, grinning down at Hongbin. ”Is that an offer?”

Hongbin winces. ”Hell, no.”

Wonshik laughs, doesn't seem to take him seriously, but Hongbin is too tired to care. ”I write... sometimes. Lyrics. And I make up melodies, but I can't play an instrument, so I can't play the songs.” Hongbin listens, but it's strange, because he isn't used to people telling him things about themselves, and he isn't sure how to reply. ”Do you write?”

Hongbin nods. ”It happens.”

Wonshik pulls out his cellphone from his pocket. ”I really want to hear it,” he says, and Hongbin thinks to himself that the chances are low. They aren't going to speak again after today. ”Lunch break is almost over, we should get going.”

Hongbin laughs at that, pulling out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. ”No way.”

Standing up, Wonshik stares at him questioningly. ”No?”

Hongbin shakes his head, still laughing as he pulls out a new cigarette and places it between his lips. ”No. I have P.E. now. No way.”

”Ah, shit.” Wonshik nods in understanding. ”Well, I can't miss geography, so I have to go.” Hongbin doesn't reply, but feels relieved when the other starts moving towards the door. Who cares about education? That's not what school is about anymore, anyway. It's about survival. ”See you later, yeah?”

Hongbin looks in the opposite direction. ”Sure,” he mutters, not bothing to hide how little he means it. Wonshik doesn't seem to pick up on it though – or maybe he does, and it just doesn't bother him. Maybe their conversation disappointed him, maybe he was expecting something completely different – an actual person. Wonshik leaves without another word, and Hongbin feels the anxiety well up, cold and hard, fencing him off like a wall. He lights his cigarette, breathes in and breathes out until he feels nauseous again, lies there until he grows cold in the spring sun, until class ends and the next one starts. He lies there until the school day ends, never taking his eyes off the sky.

He'd give anything for a friend.

But he'd also give anything not to be watched anymore, because being watched is the same as being judged. It's human nature. It can't be helped. So even if Wonshik's offer is exactly what he needs, he'd also rather not. And this contradiction, this antagonism, is what has Hongbin thinking he really isn't well off being alive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn't see Wonshik a lot after that. They don't have class together, and Hongbin always hides during their breaks, behind school, in the music rooms, wherever he can find. He's given up on the roof, because Wonshik might show up, and he can't have that.

It's almost a full week later until Wonshik finds him again, in one of the practice rooms in the music building. Hongbin almost curses out loud when he enters; he's in the midst of practicing a new song he's written, and it definitely isn't about Wonshik. No, absolutely not. It may be about the things Hongbin has been thinking of since they first met, but that doesn't mean it's about Wonshik. No, sir.

”Hey!” Wonshik says when he open the door, removing the sunglasses from his slightly tanned face as he enters. ”There you are. I was starting to think you were a hallucination all along.”

”Hey,” Hongbin breathes in reply, willing himself not to laugh. Maybe Wonshik will leave if he's boring enough. ”Yeah, that's me. Ghost of the practice rooms.”

Wonshik narrows his eyes at him. ”Okay, getting freaky. What are you up to?” He balances through the mess of cables on the floor and sits down on an amplifier, eyes tracing Hongbin's jaw-long hair and how it falls over his face when he looks down at the strings of his guitar.

”Just practicing. Passing the time.”

”What are you playing?”

”Uh... Just... this new song.”

Wonshik's eyes widen in curiosity. ”One that you wrote?” Hongbin nods, strumming on his guitar a little. ”Can I hear it?”

”No,” Hongbin hurries, and Wonshik's excitement starts ebbing out. ”Not... that one,” Hongbin adds, feeling strangely guilty and hating it with his entire being. He doesn't owe anyone anything. ”It's not finished... so... It still needs some sorting out.”

”Okay,” Wonshik says, accepting his reponse and falling silent. He looks around the room, from the and bass guitars hung on the wall, the mic stands in the corner to the piano against the wall. He seems interested, and Hongbin recognizes something in him that he used to be able to find within himself, this curiosity and will to explore, put his hands on the instruments and strum the thickest string of the bass guitars, clutch the drumsticks in his hands and try out the first rhythm that pulses through his veins, but... Nowadays the guitar is simply something Hongbin needs to hold in his hands once a day to get by. The truth is, he doesn't have anything else. It's a need, an addiction, and it has thrown his curiosity out the window.

”Do you sing, too? When you play?” Wonshik asks, getting up and walking around the room slowly to get a better look at the equipment.

”Mm,” Hongbin replies quietly. ”I mean, no one else will sing with me, so I kind of have to.”

”Hm.” Wonshik is standing over by the wall, inspecting the electric guitars with his back turned towards him. He looks at him over his shoulder. ”I'd sing with you, but my voice sucks. Sorry.”

Hongbin makes an incoherent noise in the back of his throat, not sure what else to say. A new feeling works its way up his insides, and he feels dumb, so unbelievably weak for even allowing these thoughts into his mind, but: ”I could... play you something else, if you want,” he says, widening his eyes at his own stupidity. What the fuck is this about? Why does he feel the need to please this random guy? Why would he want to do that?

Wonshik turns to him with a bright, disbelieving smile. ”Really?” he says, and Hongbin swallows with a nod. ”For real?” Hongbin nods again, now smiling awkwardly, and his hands are starting to sweat with nervousness.

”Just don't expect too much,” he says, but Wonshik is running through the room already, tripping a little as his foot gets stuck in a cable but continuing without embarrassment over to the little stool behind the drumset, dragging it over to sit slightly closer to Hongbin, but not close enough to cause discomfort, thankfully. He sits down quietly, staring at Hongbin with so much anticipation that it reminds him of a dog, excitedly wagging his tail and waiting for his owner to throw the ball again. After a few silent moments, though, he seems to realize that Hongbin is uncomfortable under his intense gaze, and he looks down, playing with his fingers, seemingly trying not to look so happy.

It feels better that way, and Hongbin takes a deep breath to brace himself before he starts. It's been so many years since he last played when someone else could hear him – well, except for his music teacher, of course – and he's not sure how he'd take to criticism anymore.

But when he sings, Wonshik closes his eyes, and it's a relief, because then Hongbin can stare at him, observe every twitch of the corners of the other's mouth every time he hears something he likes, every slight nod of his head to follow the slow rhythm of the song.

When the song ends, Hongbin is sure he's red in the face, and he hates it, because that too is weak, and since when did he care so fucking much, anyway? He fans himself furiously until Wonshik opens his eyes, giving him a soft round of applause. ”Shit, that was great,” he says, eyes twinkling with admiration. ”But it wasn't one of your own, was it?”

”No,” Hongbin says shakily. ”It's called Falling Slowly.”

Wonshik nods. ”I think I've heard it before. Your version is better, though. You're amazing, really.”

Hongbin splutters in reply. He can't give praise as freely as Wonshik apparently can, and he definitely doesn't know how to accept it.

Wonshik watches him through his embarrassment, and eventually sighs. ”Why did you start playing to begin with?”

”Uh,” Hongbin says. ”I used always drum with my hands on the table at home, and my parents grew sick of it and made me choose an instrument to learn. I guess they wanted to replace the noise with... better noise.”

Wonshik hums, eyes now locked on the pick in Hongbin's hand. ”I wish my parents would have done the same. Man, I really wish I could play.”

Hongbin shrugs. ”It's never too late to learn.” He looks down, and it takes him a while to realize that Wonshik is staring at him, somewhere between expectant and hopeful, and Hongbin realizes with a start what he's thinking. ”I– I can't give you lessons,” he stutters. ”But I can teach you how to play a song or two if you want. That should teach you the basics.” He stops himself, wishing he could take back what he just said, because now Wonshik's face is lightening up again, nodding feverently.

”You'd do that?” he exclaims, standing up off his stool. ”Shit, Hongbin, that would be so cool of you!”

A mental image shows Hongbin himself in a pit of quicksand, desperately trying to escape, but sinking further and further and faster and faster. ”Uh, yeah, no problem,” he says, mentally chastising himself. And soon enough, Hongbin's guitar is in Wonshik's hands, and Hongbin is crouching in front of him. Wonshik gives him the title of the song he wants to play, one that Hongbin himself would never listen to, but that's been overplayed on the radio to the point where it's been imprinted in Hongbin's mind. He sighs when he places Wonshik's fingers over the strings to show him the first chord.

”This is a G,” he says, pressing the other's fingers down on the strings. Wonshik makes a face, and Hongbin remembers how much his fingers hurt during the first few weeks of learning how to play, but Wonshik says nothing, struggling on. ”Try it now.” Wonshik strums once, and the sound is unstable in places, but good for someone's first time. ”Good,” he says, moving on to the next chord, and the next, and the next. It takes him a good twenty minutes until he realizes that Wonshik is the first person he has touched for... How long? Months, maybe. He doesn't touch people – he has no one to touch. He doesn't even hug his parents, unless it's someone's birthday. With that realization, he looks up at Wonshik as the other struggles to transition smoothly between two particularly complicated chords, and he wonders why he doesn't feel as put off by their proximity as he would have thought. He hates people. Detests them. And when he looks, he realizes he finds Wonshik quite beautiful. He hangs onto that thought for a while, horrified screaming resonating through his mind, until he realizes that the other's beauty doesn't matter. Hongbin doesn't care about _beautiful_ or _pretty_ anymore. No, what's getting to him is that Wonshik is _hot_. And he definitely still cares about that.

They play the song together slowly. The transitions are still awkward and some notes come out somewhere completely different on the scale than they're supposed to, but it's decent for Wonshik's first song. Hongbin sings the lyrics, and after a while Wonshik joins in. His voice isn't as terrible as he said, and Hongbin considers telling him so, but he can't make himself say it.

”Hey,” Wonshik says once they've made it through the whole song for the first time. ”Can I ask you something?”

Hongbin's tired legs give way beneath him, and he backs away, sitting down on the floor by his chair. ”I guess.”

”Why does everyone here hate you so much?”

Hongbin frowns, considers for a second if he's supposed to be offended. But, he concludes, they both know it's true – everyone does hate him. Wonshik is just nice enough to skip the sugarcoating. So then for the really difficult part: Answering his question. He shrugs, his hand finding one of the cables on the floor to play with. ”No reason. They need someone to hate, and they don't like the way I look, the way I dress.” He shrugs again. ”Easy target.”

Wonshik releases the guitar from his arms, placing it on the floor beside him, holding onto its neck. ”Has it always been this way?”

”Since the first day.”

Wonshik frowns. ”Because you were quiet?”

”I guess,” Hongbin says, taking the guitar from Wonshik's grip. ”I don't really care why. What's done is done.” He curls his legs and places the guitar on his lap, absent-mindedly playing a few notes. Wonshik is looking at him with sympathy, and it makes Hongbin uncomfortable again, because it's too easy. He's struggled for three years to make people accept him, anyone, with no luck, and now Wonshik waltzes in here, accepting him just as he is? Even approaching him willingly? It doesn't seem real.

Wonshik's voice breaks him out of his axious thoughts. ”You know about the party next weekend, right? The 93-liners' thing.”

Hongbin scoffs. ”I've heard people talking, but I'm not necessarily invited.”

”Oh, you don't need an invite,” Wonshik says, shaking his head. ”It's for all the juniors at this school.” Hongbin raises an eyebrow at him. ”We should go. The two of us. Maybe we can show them that we're normal, just like them, that we like to have a good time and to drink– I mean, you do drink, right?”

Ah, there it is. This is part of the plan, Hongbin assumes; let Wonshik get close to him and invite him to the party where they can all humiliate him. How easily he fell for it. It's kind of pathetic. ”Yeah, I guess so,” he says, even though he doesn't drink often. ”But I don't know, it just seems like asking for trouble.”

”Come on,” Wonshik says, moving his chair a little closer. ”The only reason why those people hate you is because they don't know you. If you show them that you're normal, things could be so much easier for you.”

Hongbin gives him reluctant look. This would all make sense, if it wasn't for the fact that Hongbin isn't necessarily normal. He's a freak, how can Wonshik have missed that? ”I don't know...”

”Please?” Wonshik insists. ”At least think about it?”

”Your other friends won't want to hang out with you if I'm there.”

Wonshik frowns at him. ”I don't know which parallel universe you live in, but I don't have any other friends here. I won't go unless you go.”

”Fine,” Hongbin agrees eventually, chewing anxiously on the inside of his lips. ”I'll think about it.” He knows how that discussion with himself is going to go: _No_ – but Wonshik doesn't need to know that.

Wonshik flashes him a bright smile. ”Can I see your phone?”

Hongbin pulls his cellphone out of his pocket, staring at the other suspiciously as he does so. Wonshik takes it from him, and Hongbin wants to snatch it back out of his hands. It's not like him to trust anyone with these kinds of things so easily, but it's like now that he's started, he can't stop. He assumes he'll have to beat himself up over all of this when Wonshik goes and pulls a _Carrie_ on him, maybe at the upcoming party, but he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

”There,” Wonshik says, handing him his phone back. ”I sent myself a text from your phone, so now we have each other's numbers.”

”Oh,” Hongbin says, taking his cellphone and opening his messages just to check.

”So now you can't run from me anymore.” Hongbin looks up at him nervously, wondering if there's a warning hidden in his words, but the other just laughs.

”I need a smoke,” Hongbin chokes. ”And then I should be getting home.”

”Alright,” Wonshik nods, standing up and holding his hand out to help Hongbin up. ”I'll walk you.”

Hongbin stares at his hand.

 

 

The thing about Wonshik is that his eyes seem very sincere. They don't know each other well, but Wonshik seems like he acts on every emotional impulse he gets, and isn't ashamed of it. Of course, he could just be a very good actor, but he seems to wear his heart on his sleeve, and Hongbin supposes that's why he's so compelled to trust him.

Well, that, and the fact that he really is hot. Hongbin is a teenage boy, after all.

Wonshik hugs him when he walks him home that day. Hongbin feels bad about showing him his house, because it could just make the bullying more effective, but when Wonshik leans in and hugs him goodbye and his cologne fills his nostrils, he forgets about everything else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Countless of text messages later, Hongbin finds himself at the party he so desperately tried to avoid. He's tense, prepared to run or fight, should any of it be needed, and to be honest, the thought fills him with adrenaline. He's done with running away now, thanks to Wonshik, and he almost _wants_ them to try something, just so he can put them in their place and show them what he's made of. Everyone who sees them looks downright shocked to see them there, shocked that Hongbin the Freak made it out of his cave for once and that he has an actual person beside him, one who doesn't look like a victim of kidnapping at all. Hongbin faces them all with strength, daring them to do something, _try it_ , but as soon as they enter the house, Hongbin wants to leave.

He doesn't know whose house they're in, and neither does Wonshik, but they don't care. There's free beer, and that's all that really matters when they sink down on the kitchen couch, music blaring from a stereo at the kitchen counter and mixing in with another equally loud one from the living room. The house is crowded, by voices and laughter as much as by people, and Hongbin wants to smoke, even though he put his last cigarette out just moments before they walked in the door. The kitchen is probably the least crowded room of the house, and just as he expected, when he and Wonshik sits down, the other people in the room ignore their presence completely.

It's already late, and the group of people on the floor in front of them are debating on whether they should play a game of spin the bottle or drunken twister, and the whole thing is so alien to Hongbin that he can't do anything other than lift his bottle of beer to his lips and chug, wishing he could be drunk already.

”Shit,” Wonshik says, mirroring his actions. ”No way I can keep up with you.” Hongbin laughs stiffly. Wonshik looks good tonight, in torn grey jeans and a striped sweater. ”Do you always drink like an alcoholic?”

”Only if I have to.”

Wonshik hums. The people on the floor are forming into a circle, and there's an empty bottle between them now, ready to be spun. It's cliché, even Hongbin who hasn't ever been to a party before in his life knows that much, and he'd give anything to be like them, to find pleasure in clichés like that, to do things without being constantly questioned or judged. ”You really don't like being around people, do you?” Wonshik says, nudging Hongbin's leg to get his attention.

”I really don't,” Hongbin comfirms. His social anxieties are hardly secret.

”Am I hard to be around, too?” Wonshik places his elbow on top of the wooden backrest and leans his face in his hand, the other still clutching his bottle.

Hongbin stares at the skin visible over the hem of his sweater. The alcohol is starting to kick in, even if it's only a little bit, and he feels himself relax a little. He shakes his head, even though the opposite is true. He thinks. He isn't really sure anymore.

”Then what are you scared of?”

Hongbin sighs, searching for an answer. ”They're people.”

Said people break out in loud cheers when the bottle has picked its first couple of victims: Two girls, who give each other a quick peck on the cheek.

”So am I,” Wonshik says, leaning closer to make himself heard over the noise. ”What can they do to you that I can't?”

Hongbin thinks maybe this is his cue to be scared, but he raises the bottle to his lips once more. It's already almost empty. ”It's not about what they can do to me. They've done so much, they can hardly surprise me anymore. It's just... I know that they hate me. And you don't seem to, so.”

Wonshik shakes his head. ”I don't.”

They watch the game of spin the bottle in silence for a while, and Hongbin hurriedly empties his beer when Wonshik has only made it halfway through his. When Hongbin gets up to get more, Wonshik gets up instead, to his surprise, and downs the remains in his bottle before scurrying off to find two more. When he returns, he seems a little more unstable than before, and Hongbin's stomach churns.

”So what do you see when you look at these people?” he asks, gesturing widely around the room.

Hongbin simply frowns. ”Why are you asking me this?”

”I'm just interested,” Wonshik says, leaning closer yet again to keep their conversation from being heard. ”I like people. Not _these_ , maybe, but normally.” They laugh, and it's the first time in forever that Hongbin has laughed unrestrainedly. He falls quiet, surprised at himself. ”So I'm just interested. What do you see when you look at them?”

”What do _you_ see?” Hongbin asks back, not ready to give away that much of himself just yet.

Wonshik looks around the room, eyes landing on the circle of people, where a boy and a girl are currently engaged in a passionate liplock. He frowns a little bit. ”I see 50% people who will one day, sooner or later, look back at this time and beat themselves up for being so goddamn stupid.” Hongbin stares at him, wide-eyed. ”Then I see 30% people who will never change and will remain total asshats for the rest of their lives.”

”And the last 20%?”

Wonshik grins. His eyes are a little glazed. ”They are people who will look back at all this and wonder why they never did anything for that one guy who they never really minded, but that others had decided that everyone should hate.”

Hongbin shakes his head. ”And which one of those are you? And me?”

”Oh, me?” Wonshik stretches his arms out over the backrest. ”I'm part of that measly zero point something percent that was just here to enjoy looking at all the pretty people.”

Hongbin frowns. ” _People_? Are you gay?”

”Pansexual,” Wonshik corrects him, raising his bottle.

”Oh,” Hongbin says, the room suddenly very hot. He gestures towards himself with one hand, raising his bottle with the other. ”Bi.”

”Cheers,” Wonshik says, clinking their bottles together and taking a sip, and Hongbin is horrified with himself, because that's perfect ammo for the bullies, who never step down from an opportunity to make fun of him. Even so, he drinks in big gulps. ”As for you,” Wonshik continues moments later, ”you're part of the zero point something percent that was always miles ahead of everyone else, and will silently do well for himself, better than most people.”

Hongbin smiles, but he doesn't mean it. Because Wonshik is wrong, maybe doesn't even believe in what he's saying himself, and Hongbin can't even try to accept his compliment. In reality, Hongbin is part of that small group of people who will one day disappear, and the people around him will all mourn him, say he was such an intelligent young man or a gifted boy, until they run out of shallow things to say and realize that nothing has changed since he went away. That's who Hongbin is, and how he will live his life, however long he has left.

”Now, tell me what you see,” Wonshik orders, and Hongbin sees his own drunkenness mirrored in Wonshik's unfocused eyes.

”I see...” Hongbin tries, looks around at all those nameless, strangely faceless people in the room, all happily ignoring his presence. None of them see him looking at them. ”I see the people who made me worthless,” he says eventually. ”I see the ones who made me into a freak, a monster, an ugly, useless piece of shit who will never have a chance to succeed, simply because they told me so.”

Wonshik stares at him, inching closer on the couch to place a hand on Hongbin's leg, curled beneath him. ”What do you mean?”

Hongbin exhales heavily. He doesn't want to go down this road, not really. ”I was fine until I started going to this school, you know? Even if I didn't have friends, at least I wasn't a freak. I never felt like a freak until they started telling me I was. And, you know, what I feel inside is the only truth I can believe in.” He gives the other a quick look, embarrassed beyond what he can express, but feelings he hasn't dared look twice at come welling up now that he has opened the door. ”I hate people. I hate them so much, because they're almost all like this, you know?” he nods towards the group of people on the floor. ”There's no such thing as a fully healthy relationship.”

”What makes you say that?” Wonshik asks.

”Everywhere I look, all I see are people like these. Two-faced, judgmental people who love putting each other down, and people like my parents. People who claim to love each other but resent each other secretly until neither of them can bother to pretend anymore.”

Wonshik shifts where he sits. ”It isn't always like that. My parents, for example, are happy together. They're both happy.”

”Yeah?” Hongbin asks. ”That didn't stop them from having a fucking miserable child, though.”

Wonshik shrugs. ”Things like happiness and love are states of mind, not permanent personality traits. That's why, if you wait long enough, you will realize this feeling isn't constant.”

Hongbin shakes his head, raising his bottle once more. ”They've changed the way I see myself forever. What I expect from other people. Hell, even tonight, I was so sure you were bringing me here to prank me,” he admits, and Wonshik looks surprised, even a little hurt. ”I can't change any of these things. I feel like I am a freak, not just _freaky_ , but an actual freak.”

”But you said you were fine before you started going to this school,” Wonshik says thoughtfully. ”Until these people came along to convince that you're something you're not. So who's to say someone else couldn't change your mind again?” The hand on Hongbin's leg suddenly holds him harder, and Hongbin feels heavier, the alcohol now definitely pumping through his system. He looks at Wonshik, who's staring back at him seriously, eyes dropping for short moments at a time to look at his lips.

Hongbin isn't stupid. He might not ever have been hit on before, but he knows what this is. And, his drunken mind tells him, maybe having Wonshik around wouldn't be so terrible. Maybe he's right. Maybe there's a way to feel better, to stop the anxiety from racing through his mind every minute of the day.

Or maybe, Wonshik's thumb is stroking carefully over the material of his jeans, and Hongbin is a horny teenager and an even hornier drunk, and the other's lips look very welcoming. Maybe.

”Do you want to get out of here?” he offers, because who are they kidding – the only reason they are here is for the beer. Wonshik nods, and they hop up off the couch, rounding the circle of people on the floor, all of them sending them annoyed glares for existing in their presence. They move out towards the hallway, grabbing another couple of beers as they do so, and that's when Hongbin hears the voice of the boy closest to the doorway.

”I can't believe the freak finally found himself a friend.”

”I know, right?” says the girl closest to him. ”That new guy. Isn't he ugly?”

Another girl agrees and makes vomiting sounds, and Hongbin feels himself flare up, because this is exactly what he thought would happen. Wonshik is beautiful, and he would have been allowed to stay beautiful if he hadn't insisted on spending time around Hongbin – he even warned him, but did he listen? No. And now Wonshik will have to hear comments like this every day, and no matter how much he believes in himself he will have to watch that trust and that faith crumble a little more every day until he can't find a single reason to like himself anymore.

Hongbin empties his old bottle of the last of its contents, then he turns around and chucks it towards the group of people he's been watching all night. He wants nothing more than for them to accept him usually, but he is so tired of letting them get away with this. The bottle hits one of the boys in the back, and the turns around, furious, so Hongbin grabs Wonshik by the arms and runs. Even in his drunken state, he understands that picking fights with people who are equally drunk and also hate him is not the brightest of ideas. They run out the front door, stumbling onto the porch, and Hongbin feels the adrenaline again, like he wants to go back in there and punch the boy just for having the nerve to look offended, but no one follows them. Wonshik seems dazed, and Hongbin can't be sure if he even heard the comment. If he didn't, Hongbin doesn't want to ask.

It's dark out, completely pitch black. The house they're at has a small yard, a lawn and a rickety outhouse over by the road, all of it lined with tall bushes. The road from the house is winding, with fields on both sides, showing the late-night fog over the damp grass.

”Goddamnit,” Hongbin says as he walks down the steps from the porch.

”What?”

”We should have opened these before we left,” Hongbin replies, holding up his beer to Wonshik, who follows behind him.

Wonshik chuckles. ”No worries.” He takes the beer from Hongbin's hand, presses it against the railing of the porch and pushes down until the cap comes off. Hongbin takes the bottle when Wonshik hands it back to him, and watches in awe as he does the same to his own. ”Let's go,” Wonshik says with a smile, taking a sip and walking over the gravel towards the road. ”Can't have us ugly people roaming about at night. I have to get home.”

”Wait,” Hongbin says, snapping. Wonshik stops, and when he turns to him, Hongbin grabs his arm again, pulling him over the lawn instead.

 

It's a cloudless night. Millions of stars twinkle down at them from the black sky, and Hongbin wants to take a moment to just look, but he can't, not right now. He leads Wonshik back behind the outhouse, leaning his opened bottle against it, before pushing the other boy against the wall. His hands rest on Wonshik's shoulders, and Wonshik himself stares back at him through wide eyes, but doesn't seem put off by what's happening. Traces of a smirk even tug at the corners of his mouth.

”So you heard what they said?” Hongbin asks carefully. He's crazy for even considering doing anything like this, but considering how he's done with people in the past, this may be his only chance.

”I did,” Wonshik replies, giving a tilted smile. ”Why?”

Hongbin takes a deep breath, bracing himself. ”I just wanted you to know there's someone who thinks you're hot.” And with that, he starts pressing hurried kisses to Wonshik's jaw, moving to nip at his earlobe and kiss his neck, and Wonshik's body tenses, his hands finding Hongbin's hips to pull him closer. His fingers tangle with his belt loops, and he tugs at them, trying to pull Hongbin back up to kiss him for real, but Hongbin can't bring himself to do it. It's too intimate, too soon, more intimate to him than anything else they could possibly do, and he's enjoying the sound of Wonshik's ragged breaths too much to silence him. Instead he lets his hand slide down over Wonshik's stomach, up under his shirt to fumble over his abs, and the feeling causes him to rest his forehead against Wonshik's neck to catch his breath. Wonshik is hot on a normal day, yes, but Hongbin can't even wrap his mind around what it would be like to see him naked.

Fuelled by alcoholic courage, he slides his hand down to palm the other through his pants, and Wonshik lets out a strangled groan. ”Here?” he asks when Hongbin's fingers caress him through the material. ”Shouldn't we...” Hongbin glares up at him for a moment before sinking to his knees, and Wonshik falls silent at once, one hand hanging numbly by his side, the other still holding his bottle. Hongbin leans forward, pressing kisses to the sides of Wonshik's zipper, drawing more shaky breaths from the other. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, eyes locked with Wonshik's the entire time, and the alcohol is enough to make him believe that this is a good idea, even if he's never been in a remotely sexual situation before in his life (barred nightly moments alone in his bed, of course). Wonshik's pants are tight, as in really fucking tight, and Hongbin has to put some effort into tugging them down, but once they come loose he eases them down the other's thighs, wrapping one hand around the other's semi-erected cock, stroking him to full hardness.

”Shit, shit, shit,” Wonshik curses, his free hand tentatively finding the side of Hongbin's head, pushing through his hair. Hongbin loves it, loves the reaction he draws out, and when he takes Wonshik into his mouth, he dimly registers the sound of Wonshik's bottle falling onto the grass beside them before his other hand comes up to pull carefully at his hair. He takes him in as deeply as he can, little by little past his stretched lips, looking up every now and again to see the way Wonshik's chest rises and falls, the way his face contorts in pleasure, eyes opening every now and again to make sure they're still alone, and Hongbin is vaguely aware of the stars still twinkling above them.

It doesn't take long before Wonshik starts getting louder, and Hongbin slaps his hip, noticing the goosebumps that has already risen there – due to the cold night air or to Hongbin's tongue around his shaft, Hongbin doesn't know – and the moans turn into loud exhales of air and whines, whines that grow higher and higher until Wonshik's hands are pulling at Hongbin's hair, telling him to stop because Wonshik is about to come, but Hongbin doesn't pull away. Wonshik's whole body shakes when his orgasm hits, and for a second Hongbin wonders if he's going to be able to keep his weight up, but then he feels the other's come down his throat and he does his best to swallow, wincing at the salty taste.

He stands Wonshik's forgotten bottle back up when he pulls away, suddenly embarrassed, but Wonshik pulls at his arms, forcing him to stand up. Then he kisses him on the lips, and Hongbin lets him, even if it's only for a few seconds, before he pulls away, picks up their bottles of beer again and hands one over to Wonshik. He washes down the aftertaste of Wonshik's arousal with the beer, strangely proud of what he's just done.

Wonshik pulls him close. ”Your place?” he asks quietly, pressing a firm kiss to Hongbin's jaw. Hongbin nods, suppressing a moan, and when Wonshik has pulled his pants back up, they run over the lawn together, holding hands even though somebody could easily spot them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hongbin wakes up around 10:30 the next morning in his own bed, dressed in a white tank top only. It takes him less than a second to remember the night before, and he flips over on his side fast as lightning to find Wonshik lying beside him, sharing his duvet, already awake. Hongbin winces, the memory alcohol he consumed the night before making itself known, and he sighs deeply.

 _Fuck_.

”Morning,” Wonshik says. He's probably been awake for a while, judging by the attentive look in his eyes. His hair is messy, Honbin almost blushes at the memories seeping back into his brain. It's awful, dirty, so _unlike_ him – although, of course, Hongbin has never slept with anybody before, so he doesn't know that, really.

”Morning,” he manages in reply, and Wonshik is looking at him so affectionately, not a trace of regret on his face, that Hongbin feels uncomfortable, inching away and pulling the duvet further up his chest.

”Don't freak out,” Wonshik laughs. ”How much do you remember?”

The slight hangover makes his eyes feel tilted, and he's nauseous, but not devastatingly so. ”Everything,” he breathes.

”Oh, good. I was worried you'd think I had taken advantage or something.” Wonshik leans on his elbow, becoming visibly more tense as he notices Hongbin's displeasure. ”How are you feeling?”

Hongbin shakes his head. ”I just– I think this was a mistake.” He gets up on his knees, wants to run but is too aware of his lack of underwear. He looks around the room and sees their clothes strewn about, and he actually does blush when he sees his shirt draped over his guitar, and he remembers how he said he put it there to thank it for kind-of-sort-of bringing him and Wonshik together.

”Hongbin,” Wonshik says then, holding up a hand to calm him. ”Take it easy.”

How could he have let this happen? Love, intimacy and even friendship, none of these are for Hongbin, because he knows better, he knows what happens if you put yourself on the line like that. Wonshik's eyes are worried, as if he already cares too much for Hongbin, as if he has hopes for a relationship with him, and Hongbin feels like he can't breathe.

”A mistake?” Wonshik repeats in a small voice. Hongbin stares at him, horrified, because this has already gone too far.

”I mean,” he tries, pulling the duvet tighter around his waist so that it eases off Wonshik's shoulder, revealing his naked upper body. Hongbin stares. ”God, I'm too messed up for this.”

”It's not a marriage,” Wonshik says, seemingly not bothered at all by how exposed he is. ”I had a good time last night. Didn't you?”

Hongbin buries his face in his hands, his body too dizzy and his mind too hazy to keep his eyes open anymore. ”Yes, but–” and he can't even being to explain this feeling that's launching at him from the depths of his heart, that even if he allows Wonshik a chance to be with him, Hongbin will always be the one to end up alone. Love can only end with hurting someone or getting hurt – there are no other options. And fuck, he doesn't want to put himself through that.

”So let's not label it,” Wonshik says, his hand finding Hongbin's knee under the duvet. ”Let's not regret what happened. I won't force you into something you can't deal with, Hongbin, but I don't want to lose you already.”

Hongbin flops down on the bed, ready to give up. Even the touch of the other's warm hand on his leg feels amazing, and most of all he wants to roll over and bury himself in Wonshik's embrace, but it's too dangerous, and he knows this. ”Okay,” be breathes, almost too quietly to be heard. But Wonshik hears him, he has no doubt, especially with the way his hand comes up to his hair, carefully treading his fingers through it.

”Do you want to sleep some more?”

His voice is so soft and tender that it almost makes Hongbin angry. What has he ever done to deserve being treated this way, with care and respect? It makes his skin crawl, and he can't bring himself to reply, no matter what he would have wanted to say. Soon enough, he falls into an anxious slumber, with Wonshik there, watching over his every uneven breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hongbin manages to avoid Wonshik during school hours, because he can't stand the thought of them being seen together. In the beginning, Wonshik sends him texts every day to ask him where he's at, can they meet up, but eventually he seems to get the point. He doesn't ask why. Stops asking where he is. Stops asking altogether.

Going to the party did nothing for Hongbin's image or reputation, but it made a world of difference for Wonshik. The other students know that he's Hongbin's friend now, and they make sure Wonshik knows what they think of that every chance they get. In a way, it's selfish of Hongbin to let the other go through it all alone, because he knows how it feels. But he can't help Wonshik, he never could. Only two options remain for him: He can avoid Wonshik and watch him sink into the abyss, or he can showcase their friendship to the world and watch him sink even faster. Out of the two, he chooses the former. He wants Wonshik to remain hopeful for as long as he can.

Nights and weekends are a different question, though. Wonshik drops by so often that Hongbin is almost always expecting him to show up, and they sleep together in the darkness of Hongbin's room, never even bothering to worry about his parents finding them, because they never look. Their sex is always hard, fast, intense enough to take up every thought and feeling that has a chance to form in their bodies, and before long, Hongbin finds himself craving it whenever he's alone. He's tentative, at first, because Wonshik is the loving kind, the kind to tend to every single one of Hongbin's body parts and make sure he leaves no space unworshipped, and Hongbin is far from perfect. He has numerous scars from where he has forced burning cigarette buds into his skin – a habit he has given up, now that sex with Wonshik is his new favorite form of self-destruction. The other hasn't said anything about it, though, but simply complies when Hongbin orders him to hurry up, to get inside him, to do it harder, faster, ask ”how high” when Hongbin tells him to jump, because he just wants to please him, Hongbin knows that.

And being with Wonshik is easier than he would ever have thought it could be.

 

 

 

Reality starts to catch up to him after about three weeks of this. He feels lonely constantly, even during the times that Wonshik is there, because he knows that they're all borrowed feelings. The time will come when Wonshik will take off, and Hongbin will be alone again. It has practically already happened. And one day, Wonshik calls him right when Hongbin has made it home from school and carried his guitar up to his room.

” _Hongbin_?” His voice is strained, and he's panting slightly.

”Yes?”

” _I hate to ask, but could you please come over_?”

Hongbin pauses in pure surprise. He's never been to Wonshik's place, the other has never asked him, and neither has Hongbin. ”Right now?” he asks, already halfway back down the stairs.

” _Yeah_.”

”I don't know where you live, though.”

Wonshik's sigh makes him feel guilty for some reason he's not clear on. ” _Just go towards the school and I'll come meet you, okay_?”

”Okay,” Hongbin agrees. ”Did something happen?”

” _I'll see you soon.”_

 

 

Wonshik meets him when he's almost reached their school, and they walk towards Wonshik's place in silence. It's not uncommon for them to enjoy each other's presence quietly, but this silence is tense, and Wonshik seems paler than usual, barely even looking at Hongbin when they walk. Hongbin wants to ask, but assumes it's better to wait until they're in the safety of Wonshik's room.

 

He doesn't know what he expects, and he's still surprised. Wonshik's family and house is nothing like he hadn't imagined, starting from the moment they open the door to the big, white house a few kilometers from school. Directly to the right from the doorway is the kitchen, and someone, an older lady, probably Wonshik's mother, comes running out to greet them. She hugs Wonshik tightly, murmuring endearments, and Hongbin removes his shoes before standing awkwardly on the side, watching Wonshik try to fight his mother off. ”Mom...” he mutters, and Hongbin has to fight not to smile at his embarrassment.

”Oh, of course,” Mrs. Kim says then, releasing her son and turning to Hongbin. ”You must be Hongbin. Wonshikie has told me a lot about you.”

Hongbin blinks, looking between Wonshik and his mother like a deer caught in headlights. ”Really?”

”Oh, yes,” she laughs heartily. ”But only good things, so don't worry about it.” Hongbin frowns, staring at Wonshik and thinking, with a slight relief, that if it was only good things, he can't have told her much. She ushers them into the kitchen, Wonshik looking like he'd rather disappear off the face of the earth. ”Can I get you anything? Something to drink, maybe? It's hot outside.”

”Give the poor guy a second to breathe, would you?” A man laughs from his seat at the table, a man so strikingly alike Wonshik that his identity could never be questioned. ”Hey,” he adds, raising a hand at Hongbin. ”Nice to meet you.”

”You too,” Hongbin stutters, feels warm, and is sure he's blushing. He turns to Wonshik, silently pleading with him to get him out of here, not because he doesn't like them, but because he's sure they're going to notice what kind of person he is very, very soon. Wonshik isn't looking back at him, though, so he directs his attention elsewhere, and looks around the kitchen. It's modern, yes, but the house itself is unmistakably old. The two big windows by the kitchen table floods the room with light, and Hongbin likes it, likes that it isn't too big, likes how clean it is, likes everything about it.

”Hongbin,” Mrs. Kim says then, and he snaps out of his thoughts, looking at her anxiously.

”Yes?”

”Wonshik has told you... that his father and I know about your relationship, right?”

Hongbin stares at Wonshik, horrified, his eyes wide.

” _Open_ relationship, mom,” Wonshik says, annoyed, and Hongbin has to force his own jaw shut. He could never, never in a million years tell his own parents something like that.

Mr. Kim laughs suddenly, the sound loud and infectious. ”Judging by the look on his face, he hadn't a clue,” he laughs, and Hongbin struggles to straighten out his features.

”Uh, I didn't, actually.”

”I only have one question for you,” Mr. Kim says, staring at Hongbin thoughtfully while his laughter ebbs out. ”How do you put up with this guy?” He points at Wonshik, who simply tilts his head in disbelief.

”Okay, we'll be in my room, goodbye,” Wonshik says, grabbing Hongbin by the wrist and dragging him away, back out into the hall and up the spiral staircase to the second floor. Hongbin simply follows behind him with a silly smile on his face, trying hard to process all the information he was given during that short meeting.

 

Wonshik's room turns out to be the smallest room in the house. Part of it is due to the angled roof, and the illusion might be strengthened a little bit by all the furniture and things that have been pushed into the small space, making it feel crowded even though they're alone in there.

”It's kind of small, but...” Wonshik says, and Hongbin has to laugh a little. Wonshik seems more nervous now, showing off his room, than he's ever been about showing Hongbin his naked body.

Hongbin walks over to Wonshik's overfull desk. There's a notebook lying open on it, and Hongbin can see Wonshik's handwriting, but it doesn't feel right to read it without his permission. ”I like it,” he says sincerely. ”It feels like you're close to everything in the room wherever you stand. I like it.”

Wonshik laughs suddenly, and Hongbin turns to him questioningly. ”No surprise there.”

”What do you mean?”

Wonshik walks over to his neatly made bed and sits down. It's pushed against the wall under the angled ceiling, barely giving enough room for the other man to sit upright, and there's a window on the wall behind it, with yellow curtains pushed to the side. ”Haven't you thought about that?” Wonshik asks, offering him an affectionate smile. ”Whenever we sleep together, you sleep pressed against the wall. I thought you just needed your space, but you always drag me closer until you're basically sandwiched between me and the wall.”

Hongbin turns away, slightly dumbfounded that Wonshik knows so many things about him. Maybe when he disappears, Wonshik will be the only one who can say more than ”he was a gifted young man”. Maybe Wonshik will be there to tell the world how he liked his three a.m. tea, how his body language changed when he was tired, and that he was only ticklish on the backs of his knees.

He studies some of the other things on Wonshik's desks and notices countless paintings, drawings, doodles and loose sheets of paper. ”You draw?” Hongbin asks, horrified as he realizes that Wonshik does indeed know him a lot better than he knows Wonshik.

”Oh, uh, yeah, sometimes,” Wonshik says modestly, but Hongbin can see from all the different pens and pencils strewn about that that _sometimes_ is much bigger than it sounds.

”They're...” Hongbin tries, carefully moving a few stray papers to get a better look at a particularly colorful drawing. ”They're really good.” He swallows, and he wishes he was better at giving compliments, because Wonshik truly deserves it. If anyone does, it's him.

”Thanks,” Wonshik says, getting up off the bed and closing the small distance between them, embracing Hongbin from the side. His hands clasp on Hongbin's other side, and when he looks down, he realizes they are shaking.

”What's wrong?” he asks, scared that he won't be able to fix whatever the problem is. ”What happened?”

Wonshik shakes his head, letting go of him so that Hongbin can face him properly. ”I... I know it's stupid and you've had to live through a lot worse,” he begins, and Hongbin can feel his heart sinking. ”And I know I shouldn't be complaining to someone who has it so much worse than me, but... Today when I was walking home, they threw rocks at me.” Hongbin looks down, stares at their feet, feels the anxiety between them like a mute, soundless wall. ”It's the first time it has happened, and I just– it got to me a little.”

Hongbin doesn't know why Wonshik tries to sweep his feelings under the rug, but he hears the words for what they really are, what they really mean: Wonshik is scared. All because he insisted on staying with Hongbin, even when the latter told him not to. ”I _told_ you–” he begins, but Wonshik cuts him off.

”Please... No. That's not what this is about.” He takes Hongbin's hands in his and backs up towards the bed, spinning them around and making Hongbin sit down on it. ”Just... help me calm down, please?” Hongbin nods slowly, understanding Wonshik's need as it reflects his own. Wonshik kisses him then, on the lips first, and Hongbin can't respond, never responds, so Wonshik kisses over his cheek, down to his throat and starts undoing the buttons on his black shirt. Hongbin runs his fingers soothingly over any expanse of skin he can find, and he's surprised, bordering on speechless when he tries to pull the other into the bed but Wonshik insists that Hongbin stays where he's sitting, carefully pulling his zipper down and getting onto his knees. Hongbin had thought it would be the other way around, that Hongbin would work to calm him down, but he mentally chastises himself, because of course this would be Wonshik's relief. He searches for all his answers in love, in giving, in sharing – which, in the end, will be the end of him, Hongbin knows, just like Hongbin's end will be met in the opposite; selfishness, loneliness, paranoia.

He keeps his voice down even as he comes, scared of being heard, even though Wonshik's parents already know what they're up to. Wonshik swallows all he has to offer, then comes up, sitting down next to Hongbin on the sheets while the other zips his pants back up. Hongbin stares for a while, takes in the sight of how beautiful Wonshik really is, and he's aware of the hardness in the other's pants, highly so, so he reaches down, stroking him through the material, more than ready to return the favor. He moves to get down on his knees on Wonshik's clean bedroom floor, but Wonshik holds him by the wrists, stopping him from moving.

”Can you...” he tries, voice trembling a little as Hongbin's hand finds his clothed crotch again. ”Can you kiss me? Just this once,” he hurries at Hongbin's hesitant expression. ”I know you don't like it, and you can say no, but please... Just this once. Please.”

Hongbin doesn't respond, but simply pulls down Wonshik's pants and underwear, the other lifting his hips up off the bed to help him. Then, instead of getting down on the floor, he straddles Wonshik's lap, and the other sighs in gratefulness, hands coming up to clutch at his back. ”Thank you,” he whispers, and Hongbin shakes his head, because he doesn't want to hear it, doesn't think he's anything to be thankful for. He wraps his hand around him and strokes him slowly but firmly, pressing his lips against Wonshik's. He doesn't like it, because _this_ feels dirty, nothing else they've ever done has felt this dirty because Hongbin suddenly feels like he's lying, like he's doing this behind someone else's back, like he's promising things he can't fulfill. He's never used his lips and tongue to lie to Wonshik before, not about something as sacred as this, and he wishes he wouldn't have to, but he does feel like he owes him something, so he continues.

When he speeds up his movements, Wonshik gasps against his lips, shaky groans slipping out under needy moans, and Hongbin can't deny that it feels amazing. It feels fantastic, and he's glad he can do this for him, that Wonshik trusts him enough to ask for what he wants. And when he comes, Hongbin takes his time just watching his face, observing each twitch of bliss and breathing in every exhale of euphoria. And it's sad, he thinks, that being this close to somebody will always have to mean nothing. Because Hongbin is too weak to take the hurt that is an inevitable part of love.

 

 

Hongbin eases himself off the other, breathing deeply to calm his racing heartbeat. It doesn't seem to work, but he pretends it does. Wonshik leans back on his one unsoiled hand, head thrown back and eyes closed as he comes down from his high. Then he smiles at Hongbin, fondly and full of gratitude, as always. ”I'm going to go wash up,” he says, clenching his come stained hand.

”Bring me some paper,” Hongbin tells him when he leaves, and Wonshik shows him a slightly embarrassed smile over his shoulder before he disappears from the room.

As soon as he's left alone, Hongbin grows restless. It's not as strong as the restlessness he's filled with alone in his own room, but it's undeniable, and it worries him. He stands up, wobbling a little with the aftermath of his orgasm, and walks over to Wonshik's desk. The open notebook catches his attention immediately, and this time, selfishly, to ease his pounding heart, he reads it.

He doesn't touch it, doesn't pick it up in fear of soiling it, but leans down instead. It's a poem, lyrics of some kind, he concludes, in which the narrator speaks about an unidentified someone, and his refusal to let this someone fall apart. Hongbin does his best not to freak out, but his heart is beating so fast he thinks he might faint, because how many people like this does Wonshik have in his life? Is it about Hongbin, or does he feel this way about somebody else?

”What are you doing?”

Hongbin jolts upright, facing Wonshik, who's standing the doorway with a roll of toilet paper in his hands.

”Oh, I'm– I'm sorry, it was just there, I didn't mean to look through your stuff...”

”No, it's okay,” Wonshik says, shaking his blond fringe out of his eyes as he walks up to him. ”You can read it. You know, if you ask.” He chuckles, taking Hongbin's hands in his and wiping them off, one by one, before throwing the paper into the trash can and placing a kiss on the back of Hongbin's hand.

”I... I already read it all. Sorry.” He scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding the glint in Wonshik's eyes.

”What did you think?”

Hongbin struggles to find words. ”It was... it was beautiful. Uhm...”

Wonshik watches his struggle in amusement. ”Thank you. Is there anything you're curious about?” he asks, grinning, as if he can see Hongbin's thoughts through his eyes.

Hongbin bites down on his lip. If Wonshik can be straight-forward, then goddamnit, so can he. ”Who's it about?”

Wonshik smiles, seemingly surprised that Hongbin managed to pluck up the courage. ”You, of course.”

Hongbin picks the notebook up. His hands are trembling a little now. Wonshik's handwriting is so telling, so very Wonshik, tall and sprawling, edgy yet somehow graceful. ”When did you write it?”

”A couple of days ago.” Wonshik has seen his quivering hands by now, and he's not smiling anymore.

Hongbin nods, and says the one thing he wishes he didn't have to say. ”I have to go now. I have to get home.”

”Hongbin, don't freak out,” Wonshik tries, holding onto Hongbin's wrists. ”What I said still stands. I won't force you into something you don't want.”

”I really have to go,” Hongbin repeats, close to panicking now. ”Can I keep this?” he asks, already turning the page to see if there's anything else on the back, but there isn't.

”Sure,” Wonshik says reluctantly, and does nothing to stop Hongbin when he rips the page out.

”Thank you. See you later.” And with that, he pushes past Wonshik, who remains where he's standing, tears slowly filling his eyes.

”Hongbin, please... Don't leave.” Hongbin stops in the doorway, hugging the paper close to his chest. ”Can't you stay? Please?”

But Hongbin shakes his head, and he refuses to feel like a bad person as he does so. He's already given Wonshik one thing he needs, and he needs to do the same for himself. He can't give Wonshik a bigger place in his heart than he already has, because – and he tells himself this very seriously as he hurries down the spiral staircase – if he does, he's doomed.

What he doesn't admit to himself, though, is that he can't give Wonshik a bigger place in his heart than he has, because he's already occupying all of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next time they meet, Wonshik comes to visit him, and Hongbin is sitting on the floor of his bedroom in a hazy cloud of smoke. His guitar is lying beside him, the reason for his anger, the reason why he's smoking cigarette after cigarette until he feels light-headed and ready to vomit. Wonshik walks into his room and finds him like that, papers strewn about in front of him, including Wonshik's poem, and a fresh burn mark peeking out from the sleeve of his t-shirt. Neither of them say anything, but simply stare at each other, until Wonshik moves over to open the window.

”Shit, Hongbin,” he grunts, ”at least open the window if you're going to smoke.”

”Fuck you, this is my room,” Hongbin replies, not proud of his masterful way with words, but meaning it nonetheless. He exhales another puff of smoke.

Wonshik sits down on his bed. The only place he seems to want to be nowadays. ”What have you been doing?”

Hongbin nods non-committedly towards the guitar next to him. ”I was playing. Writing a song. But the damn thing stopped co-operating.”

”Were you at school today?” Wonshik asks, and Hongbin shakes his head, not even embarrassed. He hasn't been to school for a while now, and it suits him fine, he thinks, telling his parents he's sick and only coming out of his room for dinner.

”Nope.”

Wonshik sighs, and Hongbin simply glares at him. The fact that Wonshik isn't asking him how he is must mean he looks shitty enough for the question to be unnecessary. ”So how about this song you wrote?” he asks instead. ”Can you tell me?”

Hongbin stares down at the paper in front of him. ”When I read your poem, I heard this melody in my head immediately,” he tells him, picking up the sheet from the floor, and though it's so full of notes and lyrics that it's probably unreadable to anyone who isn't Hongbin, he holds it up to show the other. ”So I wrote a song based on it. With your lyrics.” Wonshik takes the paper out of his hands, eyes wide with emotion. ”I hope that was okay.”

”Of course,” the blond says, scanning the paper as well as he can.

”I only changed a couple of words here and there to make them flow with the music better.”

Wonshik ignores the comment. ”I can't read sheet music. Will you play it for me?”

Hongbin thinks there's nothing that can make this solid, numb anxiety in his body worse, not even singing about his biggest fears, not in front of his biggest fear, his biggest addiction, biggest wish, so he reaches for his guitar, removing the cigarette from between his lips. Looking around for something to put it out against, he comes up with a blank, and pulls his pant leg up, pressing it against the inside of his shin without hesitation, wincing at the burning, bright, vibrant pain that spreads.

”What the hell are you doing?” Wonshik exclaims, throwing himself off the bed and tearing Hongbin's hand away, stealing the cigarette butt out of his hands.

Hongbin wobbles where he sits and stares down at the redhot wound on his leg. ”Calm down, it won't kill me,” he says, annoyed that Wonshik would take his self-destructiveness so seriously when he disregards his words so often.

”So that makes it automatically good?” Wonshik bites out, throwing the remains of the cigarette out the window. He faces him again, staring down at him furiously, and Hongbin is genuinely confused.

”Why are you getting angry? You know I'm like this.”

Wonshik pulls his hands through his hair. ”Hongbin, this is not okay.”

”It's fine.”

”No, it's not,” Wonshik insists, sitting down next to him on the floor. ”You can't keep doing this. Here, let me see,” he tries, but Hongbin pulls down his pant leg to cover the wound.

”No, it doesn't matter.” Wonshik stares into his eyes, and Hongbin adds: ”I like it better like this. When it hurts when I move. It calms me down.”

Wonshik sits back, shaking his head in disbelief. ”Don't be like this.”

And that's when Hongbin snaps. ”Don't be like what?!” he yells. ”You know I'm like this, you've known I'm like this from the first fucking time that we met, from before we even knew each other, so why are you saying this now, 'don't be like this'?” He wonders why the tears don't come, but he's glad they don't. He's thankful for any way he can suppress his emotions. ”Don't you know why I was up there on that fucking roof the first time we met?” he asks, and it's a thought that's been haunting him ever since then, because he really, honestly, genuinely thought the other was smart enough to figure it out. But Wonshik simply looks back at him, eyes widened slightly in surprise at the volume of his voice. ”You don't?” He laughs, completely void of joy. ”I was up there trying to convince myself to just die, to just take the step and kill myself, alright? And give everyone at that damn school exactly what they want. So that they could stand by the side and spit on my dead body, because I obviously don't deserve anything else!”

Silence falls. The chirping of the birds in the late spring afternoon flows in through the window, but Hongbin can't hear them. He only hears his own labored breathing and his own pulse drumming in his ears.

”Is that...” Wonshik starts quietly. ”Is that really what you think?”

Hongbin's throat hurts now. He's not used to talking as much as he has since Wonshik came into his life, and he doesn't want to yell anymore. ”What else am I supposed to think?”

”Hongbin...” Wonshik breathes, pulling a hand through his own hair. ”I thought... I thought you knew how I feel about you...”

Hongbin looks down. Yes, yes, he knows how Wonshik feels about him. One mistake in a world of rights. Because all those people, all those countless students that hate him, they can't all be wrong, can they? They can't just hate him for no reason?

”You hate yourself that much?”

Hongbin simply stares. He thought Wonshik had caught on by now. ”I hate everyone,” he says. ”I hate everyone in the whole world, only I hate myself just a little bit more.”

Wonshik's eyes are hollow now, but still fixed on Hongbin. ”Enough so that you want to die?”

Hongbin nods. ”Yes. But I'm not strong enough for that or anything else, apparently, so don't fucking worry about it.”

Wonshik frowns, tears glistening in his eyes. ”Killing yourself doesn't take strength,” he says, as if the words are bizarre to him. ”It's a shortcut. It takes desperation, nothing else.” A tear falls down his cheek, and he wipes it away immediately. ”Staying, fighting back, surviving is what takes strength.”

Hongbin feels like he can't breathe, and he can't say anything, only gasps for air, and there are no tears in his eyes, so maybe they're all clogged up in his airways somewhere, or in his heart, and he's really starting to panic now, deep exhales cut short by something unknown in his lungs, and he stares at Wonshik, begs him silently to help him out of this mess, help him out of his own skin, his own mind.

”Hongbin?” Wonshik questions, and within a second he has closed up behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle, loosely, but still enough to bring some sense of security to Hongbin's strangled mind. ”Easy,” he mururs into his ear. ”Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Slowly.”

Hongbin tries to do as he's told, and it almost works, as he draws short, quivering breaths through his nose. ”Deeper breaths,” Wonshik instructs him, and Hongbin closes his eyes, forces himself to keep breathing normally. And soon enough, he's gone limp in Wonshik's arms, his breathing matching the rise and fall of Wonshik's chest behind him, and he's too tired to even wish it was all over, this constant nightmarish reality where he's alone even when he has people around him.

 

 

 

”Should I play you the song now?” Hongbin asks, forty minutes later, when he's standing by the window, another cigarette between his fingers. He wants to apologize for everything, but he can't make the words come out. Wonshik is the one who insisted on staying with him, anyway. It's not his fault, not really.

Wonshik is sitting on the bed again, right by Hongbin's side. He shakes his head slowly. ”I changed my mind.”

”What?”

”I don't want you to play me the song like this,” Wonshik clarifies. Hongbin stares at him, somehow disappointed. ”I want you to perform it at the weekly briefing at school, in front of our entire year, and show them that you're human, talented and fucking perfect,” Wonshik finishes, the hollowness from his eyes completely gone, finally looking like himself again. Excited like a little puppy.

And Hongbin can't believe his ears. ”Are you insane?” he asks, inhaling deeply from his cigarette. The weekly briefing at their school is held every Thursday morning, where the teachers get up on a stage to tell them about contests, visitors, schedule changes, events and the like. It usually doesn't take up more than twenty minutes, and sometimes – once in a blue moon – there's a musical performance.

Wonshik shrugs with a playful smile on his face. ”Think about it. It's perfect. I refuse to believe that anyone could hear you play without falling for you.”

Hongbin snorts. ”Well, that'd be an even bigger problem.”

Wonshik laughs at that, but doesn't seem to give up. ”I think it's a great idea. You'll give them a reason to respect you, since they're not smart enough to think of one on their own.”

Hongbin stares at him, looking for any sign that he's joking, but finds none. And it's painful, again, the way these things, these silly ideas of his, seem possible when they're said with Wonshik's voice. And maybe Hongbin wants to pretend for just a moment that it could be possible, that he could change their lives by doing the one thing he's good for. He does, it's true, he wants to indulge in this fantasy, so he puts his cigrarette out against the window frame, throws it into the air and rushes over to where Wonshik is sitting, kissing him hard on the lips, the last of the smoke passing between them. Wonshik, the non-smoker, pulls back and coughs, and Hongbin takes this opportunity to push him down on the bed, straddling him and hurriedly working on the buttons on his shirt.

”Hey, hey, hey,” Wonshik says, chuckling a little as he grabs Hongbin's fumbling hands. ”What are you doing?”

Hongbin glares at him. ”What does it look like I'm doing?” he bites, wiggling his hands out of the other's grip and continuing down his chest and stomach.

”Slow down,” Wonshik says, grabbing his hands again. ”You said you hate yourself.”

Hongbin sighs, some of his spark going out. ”I said I hate everyone.”

”Right,” Wonshik says, nodding. ”So does that mean you hate me too?”

Hongbin frowns, about to deny it just to get it over with, but he changes his mind. ”Why, now that you mention it, yes, I do.”

”Really,” Wonshik says, sounding amused.

”Yes.”

”How come?”

”Well, for one thing,” Hongbin starts, ”I told you, the first day that we met that you were about to commit social suicide, and you said 'la-dee-da, I don't care', when you had no idea what you were even talking about.” Wonshik opens his mouth to argue, so Hongbin hurries on: ”Plus, plus, you invited me into your home and showed me your stupid, beautiful fucking family and made me realize how depressing my own is, and now you won't even fuck me when I need you to!”

Wonshik laughs, hands gripping at Hongbin's hips. ”Oh, I'll fuck you, but only if we do this a little differently.”

Hongbin raises an eyebrow at him. ”What are you talking about?”

Wonshik keeps laughing, flipping them over easily to take the lead. ”You're so much louder now than when we first met,” he mumbles, ”so much more outspoken. I love it.”

Hongbin rolls his eyes where he lies, pulling on Wonshik's shoulders. ”I don't know where the fuck you're going with this, but I don't care as long as you get your pants off–”

He's silenced by Wonshik's lips on his, kissing him slowly, frustratingly so, because Hongbin wants hard and fast and rough as always, enough to rip his thoughts from his mind by force, and he tries to encourage the other by sliding his knee between his legs, but all it earns him is a soft bite to his lower lip, so he complies, forcing himself to take it slow.

Soon he melts into the other's body, shivering more than usual when Wonshik's hands travel down his sides, pulling him up to remove his shirt. He's breathless by the time they're left only in their underwear, and he feels like he might burst into tears soon, because Wonshik has been kissing his lips for so long now, and Hongbin is so aroused and so frightened by the fact that their lips meeting doesn't feel wrong anymore, that he doesn't know what to do with himself, where to place his hands, how to stop his needy whimpers from spilling out. When Wonshik finally puts his hands on him, he feels like he might come just from a light touch to his cock, and he squirms, stretches and pulls Wonshik closer still, urging him to please, _please_ get on with it.

And when Wonshik finally eases himself into him, it's with slow thrusts, slow but firm enough to create a delicious burn when he fucks him just right. Hongbin can't think, it feels so good, and for once it doesn't hurt, not a single part of his body, apart from the forgotten burn on his shin. It rubs against his other shin when he wraps his legs around Wonshik's hips, but he doesn't register the pain, only the feeling of Wonshik moving inside of him, only the warmth that moves up his stomach with every thrust of his hips, only the way Wonshik leans his face into Hongbin's neck sometimes when he becomes too breathless to kiss him.

”Shit, shit, shit,” Wonshik curses, and the pleasure builds up so blindingly huge but so slowly, it has Hongbin gasping and moaning out loud within no time, and every time Wonshik thrusts forward he thinks he's going to come, fall over the edge, but he doesn't, and the pleasure just keeps on rising until he forgets everything else, only has space in his mind for the floating feeling in his skin, in his stomach, in his whole body. When he comes, it's with strangled gasps and fingers that shake with exertion as they're pushed into the skin of Wonshik's back. He feels like it never ends, and he can't do anything other than hang onto the other's sweaty body until Wonshik stills, hips jerking unevenly as he, too, comes, and pulls out, crashing beside Hongbin on the bed.

 

So that's what it feels like to be loved, Hongbin thinks. To have someone like Wonshik beside him, who sees through what Hongbin thinks he needs, to give him only what he _truly_ needs.

He can't think. So he rolls over on his side, crawling in as closely to Wonshik as he can come, and falls asleep in his arms.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hongbin starts allowing Wonshik to be seen with him in the school corridors at times, but they soon realize that they don't enjoy seeing each other get hurt. They can't do anything to save each other, and in the end, they're forced to realize this.

But today, at the weekly briefing, is an exception to their rules of separation.

Or so Wonshik thinks. Hongbin almost laughs to himself, _would_ laugh if he wasn't too nervous to make a single sound. He has asked Wonshik to sit with him in the auditorium, mostly just to make sure Wonshik will at all be there – because Hongbin won't be. Not in the audience, anyway. No, he has secretly signed up to perform his and Wonshik's song in front of their whole fucking year, just like Wonshik suggested. And Hongbin sees it as what will make or break him, maybe his last single hope of surviving this school. Maybe Wonshik's, too. And that, in his mind, outweighs the horrible pace his heart is pounding at, or the sticky sweat on his hands.

It's just going to be him, his guitar and a microphone. And he knows, deep down, that he can do this.

 

 

Out on the stage, things are a little different. The students applaud him politely, but Hongbin knows they're all laughing discreetly, hiding behind their hands to escape scoldings from their teachers, and looking forward to how this freak on stage is going to embarrass himself today. He wishes there were lights, spotlights shining straight at him, because surely that would block out all these faces of people who hate him, but there are none. The entire hall is bright and right in front of him.

He can't think, can't make his mind work, but simply sits down on his chair, scans the first few rows for Wonshik's face, but doesn't find him. That's okay. Having him in his thoughts is enough.

So he plays, staring down at the floor in front of him, knowing that these words are Wonshik's, imagining the song as a lullaby, sung from Wonshik to him, and he closes his eyes, pretends Wonshik is alone in the audience, staring up at him with those same starry eyes that watched him playing in the practice room all those weeks ago.

When the song ends, he's met with silence for a few vibrating seconds, and then the whole room is filled by applause, whistles, screams and cheers, and he gets up on his shaking legs, taking a quick bow before hurrying off the stage, barely able to believe his own eyes. He did it. He _did_ it. He was crazy enough to put himself through this madness, and they liked it. They applauded him. They fucking _applauded_ him, after years of throwing rocks, harsh words and pointed glares, they _applauded_ him.

He's about to boil over with pride, relief and God knows what else when he steps down on the floor at the same time as the other students get up to get to their next class. A group of girls near the front stare at him as he walks past them, and he feels like the school's first rockstar where he walks, still carrying his guitar.

Then he spots Wonshik, standing over by the door, scanning the passing crowd, no doubt trying to find Hongbin, and he's just about to run over there when he hears somebody calling his name.

”Hey, Hongbin!” a nameless boy says, one he vaguely recognizes as the boy he threw his bottle at during the party all those days ago. ”Great song, man,” the boy says, holding out his hand in a low five. Hongbin catches his hand, mind reeling even further when the boy bumps their shoulders together.

”Thanks,” he breathes, even tries to smile.

”Did you write it yourself?” A nameless girl asks from the boy's side. ”It was really good.”

”Yes, I did. With some– Yes, I did.” His eyes keep drifting towards Wonshik by the door, and the latter seems to be growing impatient where he stands.

”So cool,” the girl swoons. Hongbin can barely hear her.

They're moving towards the door when the boy speaks to him again. ”Hey, you take history with us, right?” Hongbin tears his gaze away from Wonshik to look at him.

”Uh, what? Oh, yeah. Yes, I do.”

”Wanna go with us?” the boy offers, and Hongbin feels like he might physically stop breathing.

”Sure,” Hongbin hurries. ”I just have to drop my guitar off in the practice room first.”

”No problem,” the girl says happily. ”We'll come with you.” They almost make it to the exit, Hongbin's heart beating happily in his chest, and images of him introducing Wonshik to these people and saving their future at this school fill his mind, until the girl holds out her arms and stops both Hongbin and the nameless boy from walking any further.

”Sheesh,” she says, grimacing. ”It's the new guy.”

”Oh, great,” the boy agrees. ”Come on, let's take the other exit, I don't want to go near him.”

The images fall from Hongbin's mind. He can almost hear them crash as they hit the carpet. ”Come on,” he says quietly. ”He's not that bad.”

”Not that bad?” the girl repeats, staring at him through wide eyes. ”Some friends of mine are saying they saw him _kissing another guy_.” She grimaces again. ”Don't tell me you guys are friends?”

Both her and the boy stare at him, and he feels himself shrinking under their gaze, feels himself falling back into his past, into his cursed future of never winning over neither himself nor anyone else, and he clenches his jaw, terrified.

”No,” he breathes in the end. ”No, we aren't.”

”Great,” the boy says. ”Then let's use the other exit.”

 

 

 

It hurts so badly that he has to remind himself that this illusion, this mad idea he has about love and happy endings are things he needs to put out of his mind. There's no such thing. He may have been temporarily swayed by Wonshik and his honest eyes, worn blond hair and open mind, but he's still firm in this belief. If he would have stayed with Wonshik, they might have been happy together for a short while, until one of them left (and let's face it, it would probably have been Wonshik, because who can love Hongbin once they've really gotten to know him?), and then both of them would have been alone again. Nothing would be better. At least like this, Hongbin has friends. Even if they don't truly know him, at least they speak to him. At least he's not alone. And he doesn't have to worry about being alone.

He thinks back on the things Wonshik said to him at that one party sometimes. About people, and what he saw when he looked at them: ”I see 50% people who will one day, sooner or later, look back at this time and beat themselves up for being so goddamn stupid.”

And, Hongbin supposes, it's okay to belong to those 50%. At least with them, he'll never have to be alone.

 


End file.
